After the War
by Halfwheat
Summary: A raw and realistic telling of Katniss and Peeta's lives after the war. Rated M for sexual/violent content.
1. Chapter 1

Hey guys! This is my first multiple-chapter fanfiction. Friendly reminder that there will be sexual/violent content in this fanfiction, so please keep this in mind before deciding to read. Let me know what you think, and I hope you enjoy it :)

* * *

Out of the tips of Peeta's fingers blossom elaborate fondant lilies, beautiful sugar peonies, and intricate frosting tulips. Ribbons of icing decorate the cupcakes he's spent most of the day laboring over. The tiniest of blueberries adorn the icing, placed in the most aesthetically appealing locations. The frosting is colored expertly. He has airbrushed most of it, fading the blue perfectly into the green perfectly into the yellow. His brow is furrowed now and his tongue slips out the corner of his mouth in concentration as he pipes tiny golden rosettes onto the border of a cupcake.

Briefly I look down at my own pitiful creations. The flowers look wilted and deformed. Childishly unblended smudges of red and orange streak over the top of the cupcake. The blueberries are stuck in an uninspired pattern in the icing. No doubt Peeta is worlds more talented than I am at anything artistic or creative; his cakes and decorations are just so extravagant, so ornate.

While Peeta is busy concentrating on his golden rosettes, I slyly gouge my finger into my cupcake, destroying it, not that it matters because of how ugly it is anyway. I make sure there is a good bit of frosting and cake on my finger, as well as a blueberry. Quietly, while I know he's not paying any attention to me, I stretch my finger back and fling the entire sugary chunk right at his face.

It hits him right in the eye, just like where I strike my game when I hunt. A perfect shot. He looks startled at first, not realizing what's happened, and chokes out, "Katniss, what the hell?"

Before I can respond, before I even know what's happening, he's already torn his beautiful cupcake in half and thrown it at my face. "Two can play this game," he says playfully. But it doesn't matter. The unfrosted bottom portion is what hits my face. The rest falls into my lap and smears onto my clothes, but at least my face is unmarred.

"Too bad only one can win." I grab the half-cupcake as fast as I can and throw it back at him, smearing more frosting onto his face.

Peeta knows he has been defeated. He peels some of the icing off of his face and eats it, scoots his chair closer to mine, pulls me in for a kiss, and then transfers the remaining frosting from his face to mine by nuzzling his cheek against me.

"You're just the worst, aren't you?" I moan. My face is sticky with frosting now.

"You started it," he whispers into my ear. He starts kissing my face where he smeared the icing, pulls my body onto his, and embraces me securely.

As much as I hate him, I love him so.

It has taken a long time for us to get to this point. I was extremely mentally ill for a long while. So was Peeta. I shudder when I look back and think of how I spent my first few months after the war. I didn't move. I didn't bathe. I didn't talk to anyone except Greasy Sae and her granddaughter. I ignored the phone calls from Dr. Aurelius and the letters from my mother. It was only Peeta who had finally brought me out of my catatonic stupor when he planted primroses along the side of my house

Now, it has been over a year since the war. I try not to think about how much time has passed and instead just work on taking everything day by day. I'd like to say that now that I finally have some semblance of safety, stability, and freedom, I live my life to the fullest in honor of those who died to build a better life for the citizens of Panem—Prim, Cinna, Finnick, Rue, Boggs—but that's not completely true. I try, but I mainly focus on my mental and physical recovery. Although I'm unrecognizably healthier now than I was right after the war, I'm definitely not mentally well now. Neither is Peeta.

But some days are better than others, and today was a good day. I try to spend a few hours with Peeta each day and then sleep with him whenever our mental health permits, whether it be at my house or his. It took ages for us to embrace again. Ages for us to sleep in the same bed again. Ages for us to kiss again. And yet, we have recovered to the point where we can laugh together and joke together like today.

At the end of the day, I slip into bed with Peeta as we had been doing most nights for weeks now. Embracing, kissing, holding each one close to the other. As much as we had tried to deny it, we need each other. For both of us, the nightmares never stop. And the flashbacks during the day are even worse. No one could truly ever understand what we had gone through. Not my mother. Certainly not Gale. No, what we had gone through over the past two years is something so inexplicable, so unfathomable, so incomprehensible, not a single person understands me like Peeta does. And not a single person understands Peeta like I do.

I lay my head in the crook of Peeta's arm, my hand across his chest, stroking it softly. Peeta's arm cradles me with such warmth and strength. I take in his intoxicating scent and sigh.

"You know, sometimes when I'm with you, I forget that all of this has ever happened," I say.

"How so?" replies Peeta.

"I just want to forget. I want to forget about all of it. And the closest I can ever get to truly forgetting is when I'm with you."

Peeta pulls me closer and kisses my forehead. "I feel the same way. Living in 12 kills me every single day, but I don't know where else I would go. My family's bodies are buried not too far away from here." I try to look into his eyes but he turns away, a look of pain and suffering on his face that will never truly leave. I let him have his moment in peace. He turns back to me and lays his icy blue gaze straight into my eyes. "But Katniss… When I'm with you, it's almost like none of what happened is real. I can pretend. I can forget. I lose myself in you."

With that, he kisses me again, this time more passionately. I love kissing Peeta more than anything. Getting lost in his scent, feeling his strong arms wrapped around me, so loving and protective. I know much better than to think I'll ever be truly safe—I'm no fool—but I almost feel safe when I'm with Peeta. Almost.

His hand brushes a stray strand of hair out of my face and his fingers rake through my hair, resting on the back of my head, pulling me closer. I respond in full, pressing my body against his and feel his soft, warm lips pressing against mine, his tongue parting my lips. I sigh in pleasure as he moves his kisses from my mouth to my jawline to right on my neck, sucking gently as I move my hips closer to him. His hands brush over my breasts and move to my waist to pull me closer. This is what I live for. I'll never be truly happy, but this is the closest I'll ever get. I bury my face in his golden curls as he continues to kiss my neck.

Peeta's hands slowly move down from my waist to between my legs. Instantly, I gasp and freeze up.

Of course I've thought about it many times. Peeta and I have shared a bed more times than I can count. We shared a bed quite often when we were in the Capitol before the seventy-fifth Hunger Games. I saw him naked when I saved his life in the arena and tended to his wounds. I slept alongside him in my sleeping bag when we were in the cave. When he drifted off to sleep while I lay awake, I could feel his hardness pressing up against me. He couldn't help it, of course. It gave me so many mixed feelings at the time. And now, after sleeping in the same bed as him countless times, I should be comfortable enough for him to touch me like he's doing now. But I'm not. I'm still the same squeamish, uncomfortable girl I was when Peeta made fun of me for feeling awkward about his nudity in the arena. I'm still the same prude girl that blushed when Johanna stripped naked in front of Peeta, who in turn laughed at me for being "just so… _pure_."

"Is this okay, Katniss?" Peeta whispers to me, eyes filled with concern.

I hold my eye contact with him for a few seconds, still nervous, then close my eyes, bury my face in his chest, push my hips towards him, and respond with a simple "Yes." Peeta kisses my forehead and softly, gently, slowly continues to stroke me through my underwear.

Pleasure begins to build as I rock my hips to match the movement in his hands. I softly sigh and moan with every stroke. I have never touched myself before. All of these feelings are new to me. But it just feels… good. And right. Peeta continues kissing my neck as I tilt my head back and allow small sounds and gasps of pleasure to escape my lips. Carefully, he slips his hand into my underwear and begins rubbing me again, this time with no clothing between us. My moans get more intense as he rubs and strokes my clit softly, teasing me.

His fingers inch further back, waiting at the entrance of my hole. I'm soaking wet, I can feel it. Feeling much less nervous than I was just a few minutes ago, I buck my hips towards him, silently giving him permission to slip his fingers inside me. And he does. He slides his middle finger inside of me, met with no resistance because of how wet I am. He thrusts his fingers in and out, rubbing the front wall, and then takes his fingers out to stroke my clit again, only to dip back into me to coat his fingers in my wetness once more. I'm moaning much harder now, my fingernails digging into his body, pressing myself into him as much as I can.

Finally, he stops after several minutes of this. My skin is hot to the touch and perspiration dots my forehead and cheeks. I open my eyes again; he's already staring at me, waiting for me to say something.

"That was… nice," I say awkwardly. Nice doesn't even begin to describe it.

"Did you like it?" Peeta responds.

"You know what… I did," I say. "I've never been touched like that before, you know. That was all new to me."

Peeta lets out a laugh and says, "Oh, believe me, I know, Katniss. You really are just as squeamish about this sort of thing as you were when I first met you. Not so pure anymore now though, are you?"

I'm grateful for the fact that my face is fully flushed with pleasure so that Peeta can't tell that I'm blushing. "Hey! I was never that pure in the first place!"

"Oh, you were, Katniss. Still are." Peeta laughs again. I often find that I feel myself so naked around him. Not just in a sexual way, but because he can always see right through me, emotionally. This can be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on the situation. Right now, it's a bad thing.

"Shush, you," I retort and give him a kiss on the lips to silence him. Once my heart stops beating so fast, I roll over to be spooned by Peeta. I can feel his hardness pressing against me like I have many times in the past, but have ignored. The both of us are clearly very aroused, but that will have to wait. Not today. Peeta wraps his arm over my waist, my breathing slows down, and I steadily drift off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys! Chapter 2 here. I hope you like the fanfic. Friendly reminder that this is rated M for sexual/violent content. Please leave a review!

* * *

Reality hits me next morning like a bucket of ice poured over my head. I can already tell from the moment I open my eyes that this is going to be a bad day.

It's not uncommon for bad days to follow good days for me. For maybe thirty minutes last night, from the second Peeta's lips met mine to the moment I drifted off to sleep, I thought of nothing sad. I forgot—really, truly forgot—all of my problems. Half an hour of being in my own little world with me and Peeta and no one else last night… It was an escape. And the fact that we spent so much time laughing and joking with each other yesterday just makes me sadder today. We can pretend that everything's okay. But Prim is still dead. My mother is still in District 4. Gale is still in District 2. Peeta's family is all dead. Cinna is dead. My father is dead. Everyone I hold dear to me is dead or gone, except Peeta.

It's going to be a bad day today.

On bad days, I can't be helped. Not by Peeta, not by anyone. On these days, I feel like I'm no better off than I was when I first moved back to District 12. The days when I sat in front of the fire endlessly, over and over again for months on end, letting the phone ring unanswered, not showering, not moving except to go to the bathroom and eat the food that Greasy Sae cooked for me. Whenever I have a bad day, I fear that maybe I'll be stuck that way for months like I was when I first moved here. I fear that the sadness will never leave me. Not just the sadness, but the emptiness, too. The feeling of complete and total nothingness. An endless void that letters from my mother, food from Greasy Sae, or visits from Peeta can't fill. Peeta knows to leave me alone on these days when he realizes that I can't be helped. I know that he, too, fears that my bad days will turn into bad weeks. But my mental health has improved since then. Over time, Dr. Aurelius's phone calls have helped me. Hunting has helped me. Food has helped me. Peeta has helped me. So my bad days stay as just days and don't go on for long stretches of time.

On okay days, I sleep with Peeta. Sometimes it's better to sleep alone. But sometimes it's better to have someone hold me when I wake up screaming and thrashing from endless nightmares. I like to think that he needs me like I need him. When he wakes up screaming, I try to comfort him too. But I never know the right thing to say. Peeta always does. He tells me exactly what I need to hear to calm down. I don't say much anything of substance to him when he has nightmares. I try to hold him and comfort him because that's all I can do. I don't have a way with words like he does.

On good days, I hunt. I bring Greasy Sae my game. I call my mother. I visit Haymitch. I even pet Buttercup. I watch Peeta paint. I pretend to help him decorate cakes even though I'm terrible at it, so I mostly just watch. I add things to our scrapbook. And although the good days get increasingly more common, the bad days that I do have drain the hope and life out of me.

Today, I spend the entire day in front of the fire.

I think mainly of Prim and how unfair it was that she was taken from me. Not just from me, but from my mother. From the world. Her spirit was so kind and warm; she was well-liked by everyone who knew her in Twelve. She was skilled and brave; it was clear that, given the chance to go on living, she would eventually grow to surpass even my mother in healing. Panem has been robbed of a gentle, talented, and beautiful individual.

All I wanted to do was protect her. That was my goal ever since my father died. I had done so well for so long, I thought. I hunted for her and filled her belly. I gave her guidance. I took her spot in the Games. But nothing I did was ever enough, because in the end, she is dead now.

I can still see the flesh melting off her bones.

I weep and I weep until I can no longer any more. I rock back and forth in my chair, unable to do anything else. My heart aches with a sick, disgusting emptiness that nothing will ever fill. Not my mother, not Peeta. There is a black hole there where Prim once was. I can't stop my sobs as I think of her. I just want to hold her, to talk to her one last time. But that day will never come. I'll never get to speak to her ever again. Not now, not when I go to sleep and pretend she's here, not ever.

Slowly, I feel sleep begin to overtake me. Tomorrow will be a better day. But today, I need to spend time mourning the death of my little sister.

Days pass since me and Peeta's sexual encounter. Some days good, some days bad. Nothing changes between us. Things are normal, and that makes me relieved and content. He has not tried to touch me like he did before—I'm not sure if he's nervous about overstimulating me mentally, emotionally, or sexually, or if he is worried about the state of my mental health after I secluded into my chair by the fire the day after he first pleasured me.

Tonight, I climb into bed with Peeta. I would never initiate anything sexual with him, that's for sure. For now, at least. The thought is still nerve-wracking, and although I'm aroused in anticipation, I'm nervous. Very much so. I want him to touch me again, but what if it's not the same as before? Does he expect me to touch him as well? _That_ is one thing that is definitely not happening, I can say with certainty.

"How are you doing?" asks Peeta apprehensively. He pushes strands of my dark hair out of my face and softly strokes my arm with the back of his finger.

"Better," I say. "You know how I get sometimes. And you know it's not your fault."

"I know, but it worries me. I know neither of us is in a good place mentally, and we probably won't be for a long time, but I don't want to do anything to make it worse for you."

"Stop," I say, kissing him on the lips flatly. "You know you only make things better for me."

"I do my best," he says with a sly smile. He returns my kiss in full, nibbling on my lip and slipping the tip of his tongue to part my lips. I want his hands on my body so badly, but I'm caught somewhere between nervousness and arousal. Slowly, he begins to explore my body. His hands caress my breasts through my shirt, rubbing over my already stiff nipples. I run my fingers over his chest as well and listen to his breathing speed up. I drape my leg over his body, pulling him closer and pressing the bulge in his pants against my throbbing clit. My breathing is fast as well now, his hands moving from my breasts to my ass, grabbing it with desire. His fingers travel around my curves, making their way to my clit.

I freeze again, breathless and excited. I want to feel his fingers on me. I want to feel his fingers in me. Peeta pulls away and asks, "Do you want this?"

"Oh, Peeta, I want it so bad," I respond. He must have noticed the look of desperation on my face because he puts his hand inside of my underwear and starts stroking my clit with fervor. A loud, startled moan escapes me as I arch my back to give him easier access. His fingers expertly and carefully work my clit and stroke me from the inside until I'm panting heavily, bucking my hips wildly towards him. My thigh bumps into his groin. Rock solid. My pleasure arouses him so much. For some reason, this makes me want him even more.

But Peeta stops to take off my shirt, pulling it over my head. Once again, nervousness boils up inside me. He stares at my naked upper body for a few long seconds—my small round breasts, nipples puffy and red; my narrow waist, which fits the shape of his hand perfectly like a puzzle piece; my flat stomach, still thin from not being able to eat as much as I should from my stress and mental issues after the war. I suddenly feel very self-conscious and look away from his gaze. I'm not sure why, really. It's not as if I've never been naked around anyone before. Cinna has seen me naked. My mother and sister have seen my naked. My prep team, Flavius, Venia, and Octavia, have seen me naked countless times before. But it's different now. I wasn't trying to impress them with my naked body. It was clinical. With Peeta, I realize that I want nothing more than to please him and satisfy him.

"Katniss, you're beautiful," he says, noticing my insecurity. He touches my chin and tilts my head back towards his. "I mean that. You are the most beautiful woman I've met in my entire life. I knew that from the moment I laid eyes on you." His blue gaze melts me; I'm at a loss for words. "I mean that, Katniss. Your body is incredible and perfect. You don't have to worry about a thing." He kisses me on the lips again until I let myself be taken by the passion I feel towards Peeta.

His kisses travel from my lips to my neck to my collarbone. They reach my breasts and flicker over my nipples, sucking lightly on each one. My arousal intensifies from the sensation of his lips and tongue on my nipples; I rub my legs together and feel myself getting even more wet, even though his fingers aren't touching me there anymore. He travels down from my breasts to my stomach, and lower still to the elastic of my underwear. He hooks his fingers over the waistband of my underwear, wanting to pull it down. He looks up at me for approval. I nod silently, desiring him so badly.

He pulls my underwear and pajama pants off of me. I wiggle my hips to ease the process. The pants and underwear come off. I am completely, utterly naked with Peeta's face looking up at me from between my legs. I am so nervous, so vulnerable, so naked. Always so naked with Peeta. This time, I really, truly am. Nowhere to hide. Every inch of my body is exposed to him. His face is inches away from the most intimate part of my body. What does he think of it? Does he like what he sees? I've seen naked women before. I've seen images of them in the Capitol because of the Capitol's hedonistic views of sex as something mainly for entertainment. Do I look like those women down there? I don't think so—I think my vulva is fleshier than most. Every time I've seen an image of a naked woman in the Capitol, their vulvas are always so trimmed, so neat, like nearly nothing is there. No excess skin, no flaps. I'm sure most of them have had cosmetic surgery there, just like they have plastic surgery everywhere else on their bodies. But the thought doesn't calm me. It only exacerbates my anxieties.

Just as nearly all of my arousal has left me because of my worries, Peeta plunges a finger inside of me, still looking into my eyes. I gasp out in shock once; he lowers his gaze to between my legs, presses his lips onto my clit, and I gasp out in shock a second time. I can feel his tongue part his lips and run up and down my clit. No time for anxiety or fear or worry now—this feels so, so incredibly good. I lean my head back, close my eyes, and allow myself to get lost in the moment. Peeta traces his tongue around the edge of my clit only to lick again right on it. He runs his tongue up and down, side to side, all the while pumping his finger in and out, stroking the frontal wall of my pussy, sending waves of pleasure through my body. I'm moaning, I'm squirming, I'm bucking my hips, I'm saying his name over and over again. He flickers his tongue up and down my clit as I wildly move my hips in desperation. I can't focus, I can't concentrate. All I can think of is how good this feels, how aroused I am, how Peeta is the most amazing man I've met in my entire life for bringing me this kind of pleasure.

I didn't even realize that I was digging my fingers into the bedsheets until Peeta's free hand slides up to meet one of mine. He interlaces his fingers with my own as I dig my fingers into his hand. I've never felt this kind of pleasure before, never even knew it existed. I arch my back and moan again, writhing in pleasure from the touch of his tongue on my throbbing, aching, yearning clit. I'm completely soaked in sweat. My wetness and Peeta's saliva drip down my slit, forming a pool in the bed. I'm gripping his body with my feet, gasps and moans and Peeta's name escaping my lips. I nearly panic as another, more intense feeling begins to rise up inside of me; I've never felt this before, but I know what it is.

"Peeta…" I gasp. "Peeta… I'm going to cum."

He groans into my pussy in response, the sound muffled. "Don't stop," I moan. He doesn't stop. His tongue and lips work my clit and his fingers work the inside of my pussy, flickering up and down, pumping in and out. At long last, the waves of orgasm crash through my body as I'm writhing and moaning. I arch my back one last time and cry out Peeta's name. The contractions cause my pussy to clamp down tightly on his fingers. I'm in complete and total shock as wave after wave of pleasure courses through my veins and travels to every inch of my body, from my core all the way to the tips of my fingers and toes.

And then it's over. Eighteen years of pent up sexual energy. All of my sexual frustration released all at once in an earth-shattering, mind-blowing orgasm that I desperately needed. I lay on the bed unmoving, unable to think, unable to focus. Not a single thought runs through my brain. Just pure nothingness. In fact, I don't even notice when Peeta extracts himself from my legs to curl up beside me.

"All tuckered out?" he says with a devious smirk on his face.

I roll over on my side and face him, not even looking into his eyes out of exhaustion. Just burying my face in his chest. "Mm hmm."

"Your orgasm," he begins. "Real or not real?"

I suddenly burst out laughing with the last bit of energy I have. "Real! Peeta, of course you know that!"

"You're right," he says while laughing. "You couldn't fake it if you tried. You were never a good actor. That's my job."

I ignore his playful dig at my acting skills because I know it's true. No matter how much President Coin, Cressida, and Fulvia wanted me to act in their propos, I never could. I have my strengths, but acting isn't one of them. "You better not fake your orgasms either, when we get to that point!"

Peeta laughed again. Laughing is something that was so rare for us for so long. Now it seems to flow naturally. "I couldn't fake that if I tried." That much is clearly true.

Completely and totally spent, lying naked in a pool of my own perspiration, my wetness, and Peeta's saliva, I lay in Peeta's arms and drift off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Glad everyone's enjoying the fanfic! Here's Chapter 3. Just a friendly reminder that this story is rated M for sexual/violent content.

* * *

I remember when Peeta and I first slept in bed together after the war. It was a cold, rainy day. This was several weeks after I had first seen him in District 12 again, when he had planted primroses alongside my house. Our relationship had been very slow to build; at the time that I first saw him again, I hadn't showered or hardly moved in months. I was in no proper state of mind to even take care of myself, let alone rebuild a bond with Peeta. Several weeks after meeting him again, while I was doing relatively better, I was still suffering physically and emotionally. Greasy Sae forced me to eat twice daily, but I still could never choke down enough food to put on weight, and the fact that I spend months barely moving meant my muscles had atrophied to the point of near-worthlessness.

But that rainy day, I felt that I had enough energy to go hunting again. I still hadn't truly gone hunting yet since before the war. I had tried to hunt on the day with the primroses, but collapsed on my way back, and Thom had carted me home. This time, though, I was sure I could make it.

So in the morning, I put on my father's hunting jacket, donned my bow and arrows, slung my game bag over my back, and laced up my hunting boots. Over a late breakfast, I told Greasy Sae that I was going hunting, and she responded by telling me to be careful. I blushed, hoping she hadn't found out that I had to be carted back to my house the last time I tried to go hunting. I headed out the door and walked past what used to be the Meadow, which had instead become a gigantic crater filled with dead bodies. Disgust shot through my veins. Disgust at the scent of rotting flesh, which was magnified by the thick, rainy air. Disgust at the lives lost because of me.

I pushed my way through the branches and brambles in the fence. In the woods, I feel at home, much more so than I do when I'm in my house in Victors' Village or even in my old house in the Seam. The woods never change. Not like the rest of District 12. The further I walked, the further away the scent of decomposing flesh became, and instead the air became heavy with the familiar scents of forest life. Tree bark, crunchy leaves, stream water, flowers, fish. Feeling invigorated by the woodland scents and finally feeling at home again, I traveled at a brisk jog. My boots squished in the mud and the rain pattered harshly into the ground. I was much more alive now, much more energized than I was when I first tried to go hunting. I even passed by me and Gale's old meeting place, which was where I had collapsed last time. Yes, I was much more physically fit now. I headed towards the lake and kept an eye and an ear out for squirrels and birds.

Spotting a dove singing high up in a nearby tree, I pulled out my bow and loaded an arrow in it. I didn't expect much of anything. I knew it would take a while for me to build my hunting skills back to how they were before. My arms were shaky and my aim was pitiful; I couldn't lock down on that dove to save my life. I fired my arrow anyway and hoped for the best. As expected, it completely missed the dove, which fluttered far away.

Disappointed, I walked over to fetch my fallen arrow. It was covered in mud now. I stowed it in my quiver, vowing to clean it off later. I was determined to catch something, anything. If I did one thing that day, it would be to make at least one kill. So I reloaded my bow and searched for another potential piece of game.

An hour passed. I had struck out every time. I couldn't keep my bow steady. I didn't have the aim that I used to have. I had even accidentally lodged one of my arrows high up in a tree, which I was too weak to climb. That arrow would have to stay there until I was recovered enough to climb. Feeling defeated and exhausted, I knew I wasn't going to make it to the lake. In fact, if I didn't turn around now, I wasn't sure if I would even be able to make it back home. So I turned around and tried to at least make it back to me and Gale's old meeting spot.

But I was exhausted. So, so exhausted. Every bone in my body ached. My muscles were weak and fatigued. I was shaky from hunger. I was dizzy from exhaustion. I had set the bar too high, and now there would be no way for me to make it back. I would have to rest. I used the last drop of my energy to make it over to a large log, let my bow and sheath clatter to the ground, and collapsed on the ground against the log. Mud stained my hands and lower body while rain poured onto my face. Briefly I wondered if I was going to drown. But instead I drifted off to sleep.

As was common, Prim featured prominently in my nightmare. This time, she was in the woods, running. I chased after her, calling her name. But she didn't turn around. I never saw her face. Suddenly, she screamed. A rustling in a copse to our right revealed itself to be a gigantic wolven muttation, fangs bared. Its long silver fur was perfectly straight, unnaturally straight. Its eyes were a familiar slushy grey. Panicking, I loaded my bow with an arrow as the muttation leapt to attack Prim. She was so small, so defenseless. I aimed right for one of its soulless eyes, shot my arrow, and… missed. I watched in horror as the muttation tore Prim's arm from her body, blood spurting out like a geyser. My heart was pounding right out of my chest as I loaded my bow and tried again to kill it, to try to possibly salvage Prim's life, but missed my target once more. I got to see Prim die before my very eyes once again as the mutant wolf tore her limb from limb.

I screamed at the top of my lungs in sheer terror. My body was lifted high in the air. I had no energy to flee. I was being carried away by someone large, but who? And why? I mustered up the willpower to pound on their back with pitiful fists as tears streamed down my cheeks.

"Relax, Katniss."

Reality suddenly hit me. I wasn't dreaming anymore, but I was still being carried, strung over someone's shoulders like a limp ragdoll. I quickly recognized the voice as Peeta's. What was he doing here?

"What's going on?" I murmured breathlessly.

"Greasy Sae told me you went out hunting today, but was worried when you didn't make it back by dinnertime," he responded dryly. "She told me to go out and find you. It wasn't too hard due to the fact that you were screaming." I hadn't noticed when I first woke up, but it was dusk outside. How long had I been asleep for?

"Let me walk," I demanded.

"You're not going to make it."

"Yes I will!" I pounded my weak fists on Peeta's back again until he pulled me off of him, clearly annoyed. My feet touched the ground and I immediately collapsed. My hands were again covered in mud. I realized I couldn't even sit up properly as I pathetically sunk further towards the ground, moaning in exhaustion, pain, and anger.

"Come on, Katniss. You have to stop pulling stunts like this." Peeta scooped me up again, this time in his strong arms. I felt silly being carried like this, like a small child, but I didn't dare complain again. Not like I had any other option. I was starving, sleepy, physically exhausted, and cold. He carried me in total silence back to Victors' Village, the only sounds being his boots squelching in the mud, his choppy breathing, and the pounding of the rain. When we finally got back to my house, he immediately sat me down in a chair at the dining room table, ignoring the fact that mud was now getting everywhere. He heated up leftovers of the dinner that Greasy Sae had cooked for me and placed it in front of me. Mashed potatoes and goose thighs. Once again, I felt like a small child; this time, one who had gotten in trouble with her parents for disobeying them. I took tiny bites as Peeta sat next to me and watched me, making sure I ate.

Finally, he broke the silence. "You really have to stop doing stuff like this."

Feeling strengthened after eating a bit, I felt more able to snap at him. "Stuff like what?" I retorted.

"Getting yourself into trouble! You almost got yourself killed out there," he hissed. "You shouldn't have pushed yourself as far as you did. There was no reason to do that. You knew you weren't healthy, you knew your limits, and you pushed past them anyway. That's not responsible."

"I didn't come here to get lectured by you," I snapped.

"You wouldn't be here at all if it weren't for me!" Peeta had raised his voice now, something I've rarely heard him do. His blue eyes were icy, filled with anger and upset. "You'd still be in that forest, probably eaten alive by a pack of wild dogs. You know the dangers of the forest better than anyone else."

I began to feel nauseous, thinking of Prim being torn apart by the muttation. Losing my appetite, I put down my fork. There was nothing I could say in defense of myself. Peeta was right.

"Keep eating," he said, a little more softly. Gingerly, I stabbed a piece of goose with my fork and forced it into my mouth, focusing on my food and avoiding eye contact.

Peeta sighed, looking exhausted. "Look, I'm sorry I yelled at you," he said, calming down. "But Katniss, you really had me worried. I felt sick thinking of what could have happened to you." His voice broke off.

I looked up at him. His eyes were watery, and it wasn't just from the rain. Suddenly, my heart swelled with emotion. Without even thinking about it, without even realizing what I was doing, I swung my arms around Peeta's neck and held him tight. He held me too, stroking my soaking wet, matted hair.

"I just didn't want to lose you," he choked out.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, muffled by my face being buried into his shoulder.

We sat like that for some time, holding each other, inhaling each other's scents, listening to the beating of each other's hearts. It had been a long, long time since I'd been held by Peeta, since I'd felt his arms wrapped around me so protectively, since I'd touched his golden waves, since I'd smelled his body next to mine. And I realized I missed it. I missed what intimacy felt like.

Finally, we pulled away from one another. Then, it was me who said it. "Do you want to stay at my place tonight?" I blurted out spontaneously, just as I had embraced him so spontaneously as well.

"I would love that," Peeta responded warmly.

So I finished my dinner, thanked Peeta for saving my life yet again, and dismissed him. We both clearly needed a shower, especially me. When I was ready, I called him back over. I was nervous, but I missed him badly, and my need for physical and emotional intimacy won over my nerves in the end.

I heard a knock on the door and quickly answered it. "Fancy seeing you here again," I said. "Hurry up and get inside." It was still rainy, and Peeta's curly hair was stuck flat onto his head.

"Fancy seeing you when you're not covered in mud from head to toe," said Peeta playfully.

"Don't make me regret inviting you over here," I joked, shutting the door behind him. It was just me and Peeta in my house, by myself, quiet now that I had shut the door and stifled the sound of the rain. I felt somewhat awkward. "Well… I'm honestly pretty exhausted after today, so we should probably just go to sleep now." I began walking up the stairs as he followed.

"Still tired after that five-hour nap today?" he smirked.

"You'd be tired too if you spent all day hunting with not enough muscle to even walk properly!"

"Baby steps, Katniss. Baby steps."

I turned down the hall into my room and turned on my lamp. Already wearing pajamas, I put on some socks and hopped into bed. Peeta took off his jacket and pants, climbing in after me. "Nice room you got here."

"It probably looks the same as yours," I said, turning off the lamp now. "All the houses in the Victors' Village look exactly the same."

Darkness flooded the room. I shifted around in bed awkwardly. I had slept in bed with Peeta more times than I could count, but after being apart for so many months, it just felt… strange. "Well… goodnight," I said flatly.

"Come over here." Leave it to Peeta to initiate cuddling with me. I guess I did my part today when I embraced him and then invited him over in the first place.

Slowly, I scooted up beside him so that he could spoon me. He draped his strong arm over my midsection and pulled me close to him. Every inch of my body was pressed against his. I could feel his light breathing graze over my ear, smell his wonderful scent. Instantly, all of my fears and feelings of foreignness vanished. Laying here with my body entwined with Peeta's was familiar. It was safe. It was right.

That night was the start of many nights spent with Peeta to come.


	4. Chapter 4

Hey everyone! Chapter four here. Hope everyone's liking the story. Friendly reminder that this story is rated M for sexual/violent content. Leave a review and let me know what you think!

* * *

Peeta and I have come a long way since the first night we slept together. But looking back on that memory is bittersweet. It reminds me that I'll never stop owing him. It reminds me of how unbalanced our relationship is.

For the past few weeks, I've slept with Peeta, and he pleasures me. I never initiate it. What we're doing is so selfishly one-sided on my part to the point where I don't feel comfortable initiating it. I'll kiss him back if he kisses me, and I'll gladly open my legs for him as he works his tongue on me like magic, leaving me screaming in pleasure instead of terror, but I'm never the one to kiss him first. I'm never the one to guide his hand down south. Even though every night that he goes down on me he ends up with a throbbing, rock hard erection that presses into the small of my back when he spoons me, I do nothing. And I realize, what we're doing is so selfish and one-sided just like everything else in our relationship.

Peeta comforts me. Peeta gives me advice. Peeta knows what to say. Peeta ravishes me. Katniss does nothing for Peeta.

Haymitch was right when he told me that Peeta deserves better than me.

So one night, after a good day, I allow Peeta between my legs again. I let his tongue and lips send me, sweating and panting, into a world of orgasmic bliss. When he comes up, wiping the saliva off his mouth with the back of his hand, I grab him and kiss him.

"Peeta?" I say.

"Yes, Katniss?"

"Do you feel like I'm being… selfish? You know, with what we're doing now?"

Peeta pulls away from me and gazes into my eyes. "Not at all. I know how you are about this kind of thing. And I want to make sure you're ready before we go any further. Katniss, I could go down on you every night for the rest of my life and die a happy man."

He knows just what to say to melt my heart, as always. I close my eyes and sigh contentedly. Just hearing him talk about me is like music to my ears. But I know exactly what I want to do.

"I want to please you, too."

"You please me just by letting me go down—"

"No," I say forcefully, moving myself to a sitting position. "I really, really want to please you." I place my hand on his chest, push him down on the bed, and climb on top of him. I feel his erection pressing against me through his boxers. "And I know you want it too."

"Katniss—"

"Shh."

I start with his lips, just like he had done for me. I move my kisses to his strong jaw, and then to his earlobe. I suck on it gently. I'm straddling him and I feel his cock twitch below me. The feeling of his cock twitching against me sends shivers down my spine, and I sharply exhale into his ear, already feeling myself become aroused again even though the waves of orgasm had just rocked my body minutes earlier. I move my kisses lower to his neck and then pull his shirt over his head.

His body is so, so incredibly beautiful. Broad shoulders, muscled chest, strong arms. I've seen it many a time, of course. I've even seen Peeta naked before, before I ever even kissed him on the mouth, when I washed his clothes while he was wounded in the arena. But now, it's all mine. Completely for me and no one else. I run my fingertips up and down his chest, taking it all in. Unable to wait any longer, I plant kisses from his neck to his chest, lower to his abdomen, lower still to the waistband of his boxers. His cock is so, so hard and right next to my face with nothing but a thin layer of cotton in between. Peeta's breathing has quickened significantly. Nervousness? Excitement? Both?

In a moment of truth, I slip his boxers down over his cock. It springs out from its restraining clothing. I've never seen an erect one in real life before, only in images at the Capitol. Huge, monstrous ones that are far too big that are probably bought with money rather than naturally occurring. But Peeta's is much more modest. Not at all terrifyingly large like the ones in the Capitol. I pull his boxers down over his prosthetic leg and throw them onto the floor. I move back up to his cock and realize I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. Out of instinct, I look up at Peeta.

"Katniss, you don't have to do this if you're not ready," he says. It must take him all the willpower in the world to say that. His erection is so large and throbbing.

But I refuse to take him up on his offer. I may be nervous, but I'm sure Peeta was too when he first touched me. Had he ever pleasured anyone before? He certainly seemed talented enough, and he certainly didn't appear nervous. But I don't know who he would have done it with… He doesn't seem like the type. I push thoughts of Peeta being with another woman aside, tell myself that it was his first time just as it is mine, and vow not to let my nervousness show through. I owe it to him for all he's done for me. "I want to do it so badly, Peeta. You've opened up a world of pleasure to me, and I want to do the same for you."

Before he can protest, I grip his shaft with my hand and put the head of his cock in my mouth. Peeta immediately moans and shudders. He's big enough so that I can comfortably fit both my hand and my mouth and have plenty of room for both. Not entirely sure what I'm doing, I move my hand up and down and suck the head. This elicits a strong reaction from him as he tilts his head back and moans again. I continue to bob my head up and down, meeting its motions with the pumping of my hand, sliding his foreskin over the head. I flicker my tongue over the tip of his cock and then plunge the rest of my mouth down on it. Peeta's squirming and soft, primal grunts turn me on more than I ever realized they would. I'm dripping again with wetness as he places a hand on the back of my head, not to force me down, but to stroke my hair. His cock begins to twitch harder in my mouth. I moan with arousal and keep bobbing my head, moving my tongue, and pumping my hands. I so desperately want to please him just as he's pleased me. I want to make him cum, and I want to make him cum hard.

He begins gripping the bed and bunching the sheets up in handfuls with his fists as he lets out another groan. I instinctively grab for his hand with my free hand just as he had done for me when I started losing control. He grips my hand like a vice, digging his fingernails into my skin. I pull my other hand away from his cock to steady myself, take a deep breath in through my nose, relax the back of my throat, and slowly sink my mouth down to the base of his cock, deep-throating it. I gag slightly and immediately come up for air, take a breath through my nose, relax my throat again, and plunge my mouth down to the hilt of his cock. It's difficult to deep-throat him, made obvious by my frequent gagging, but so incredibly worth it to hear his primal grunts and see his body shudder every time I do it. I continue doing this when Peeta suddenly gasps.

"Katniss… I'm going to cum…"

More wetness pools between my legs as I hear those words. I immediately pull back to resume pumping his cock with my hand and sucking on it with my mouth. All I want is for Peeta to orgasm for me. And that, he does. With a lurch, he cries out my name and his cock twitches in my grasp, his balls pulling close to his body, his fingernails digging hard into my hand. Suddenly I feel a spurt of hot, salty liquid with the consistency of snot shoot into my mouth. I immediately pull away from Peeta, gagging, spitting it out into my hands. I should have known this was going to happen. Everyone knows what happens when men orgasm. I know, too, but for some reason it had taken me by surprise.

Another rope of thick semen spurts out of Peeta's cock, a good bit of it splashing onto my cheek. I had completely forgotten what I was supposed to be doing. I quickly reach out for his cock and pump my hand up and down in an attempt to not completely ruin his orgasm more than I already have, but his cock begins to go limp in my hands.

"Peeta!" I gasp. "I'm so sorry!"

Peeta gently grabs me with one arm and pulls me next to him. My left hand is still covered in the semen I had spit out, and my right hand is still covered in the semen from my failed attempt at salvaging his orgasm. I use my wrist to wipe the cum off of my face. "Shh," he says. "You did a fantastic job."

"But I didn't!" I cry out in protest. "I pulled away right when you came, like a complete idiot. I don't know what I was thinking." How could Peeta please me so well, only for me to mess up when I try to do the same for him? Just another thing to add to the list of things that Peeta does for me that I can't do for him.

He responds by laughing at me. He brushes the hair off of my forehead and kisses me there, ignoring the fact that I'm now dripping his semen onto his upper body. He moves his kisses from my forehead to my nose to my lips, kissing me softly, sweetly, slowly, not caring that I had just wiped his cum off of my cheek. It has now dried and my face feels sticky, just like it was when he had smeared frosting onto my face just weeks ago. I allow my mind and body to relax. "Katniss, you are incredible. I mean that," he says. "You know, you weren't half this insecure when you were leading the rebellion. But put yourself in a bed with me, and you become my little blushing bride."

I playfully smack him. "You'd be insecure too if you were as inexperienced as me!"

Peeta raises an eyebrow. "How do you know I'm not?"

Truthfully, I don't. "You don't act like it."

"It's called confidence, Katniss. And I know more than anyone that you have a lot of confidence. Just maybe not when you're naked in bed with me," he says, smiling.

Unable to think of a dig at him, I pout and kiss him into silence. I roll over for him to spoon me. This time, he doesn't have an erection to jab into me. For once, I made sure that I took care of that.


	5. Chapter 5

Hey everybody! Thanks for everyone who's still following my fanfic. Please leave a review, I love reading them :) Friendly reminder that this fanfic is rated M for sexual/violent content.

* * *

Peeta has bad days too. His manifest differently than mine, though. He is so much mentally stronger than I am. Even after being brutally tortured and beaten in the Capitol, even after being hijacked with tracker jacker venom and brainwashed into trying to kill me, even after his entire family died here in 12, he always handled things in a much healthier way than I did. For one, he didn't go months on end without bathing and leaving the house like I did after the war. He talked to people. He baked, he painted. He planted flowers. He dug himself out of his mental grave. And even though he still has flashbacks, which leave him with his fists clenched until his knuckles turn white, wishing for the shackles he once used to dig into his wrists and ease the pain of his memories, he is much more mentally well compared to me. I guess a large part of it has to do with the fact that Dr. Aurelius refused to allow Peeta to leave the Capitol for several months after the war, forcing him to get treatment for his mental torment. But regardless of the help Peeta has gotten, I'm very impressed by the state of Peeta's mental health.

But sometimes, mental illnesses can express themselves weeks, months, years after the incident that caused them.

Today, Peeta and I had spent our time gathering together. He is useless at hunting, due in no small part to the heavy, uneven steps of his prosthetic leg, but it doesn't take much skill to gather once you have the knowledge required to do it. We had found a freshly-bloomed patch of strawberries, dug up a few wild onions, and plucked a large basket full of apples from the trees. I can climb trees quickly after my countless years of prowling through these same woods, but it's much more fun to have Peeta hoist me up onto his shoulders so I can reach high up without any exhausted limbs or fear of falling.

We trek back to Victors' Village, indulging in the scent of the cool air. A light breeze swirls through my hair and guides the fluffy clouds further along the sky. Squirrels scamper in the trees, but I know it's worthless to try to hunt them right now with Peeta's clunking leg. I feel almost free when I'm in the woods.

"I'm so glad we don't have to worry about sneaking back into District 12 anymore," I say.

"We? Don't you mean you?" Peeta replies flatly.

I suddenly feel a pang of sadness. Has Peeta really taken Gale's place for me? I spent years upon years in the woods with Gale and no one else. We had taught each other so much. He taught me how to make effective and often complex snares; I taught him which plants and berries were safe to gather. We matched one another in our archery skills. Not a single person in all the world could replace what Gale and I had. But for a second, I had slipped up and referred to Peeta instead of Gale as the other half of my "we."

"Guess I wasn't thinking," I say quickly, hoping Peeta wouldn't read too much into it. We walk in silence back to the gate, move the brambles and branches aside, and stroll through the now-beautiful green Meadow. I briefly think of how Peeta's entire family, along with hundreds if not thousands of other dead citizens of District 12, are buried underneath our feet. Finally we reach Victors' Village. We drop the apples off at my house before going to Peeta's house to drop off the strawberries and blueberries. Peeta gets most of the berries we gather so he can decorate his cakes with them and bake them in his bread, which I'm more than okay with because I usually end up having a few bites.

After stowing the berries in Peeta's refrigerator, I walk over to the next room and sprawl my body out onto the couch, exhausted after a long day. My energy levels are still not where they were before any of this all happened. Although I eat every day—Greasy Sae makes sure of that—I can't consume large or even moderate amounts of food, it takes me a while to eat, and my body has trouble putting on weight. I definitely don't have much muscle mass. Mental, emotional, and physical exhaustion wrack my body and mind every day, even on good days. Not a day goes by where I don't think of my mother, my father, Prim, Gale. Gale is as good as dead to me. At least I can talk to my mother on the phone.

I expect Peeta to join me, but he shuffles around the kitchen, pacing. "Peeta?" I call out.

Still, he says nothing. Worried that he might be having a flashback, I muster up my strength and walk to the kitchen. Peeta is pacing, skin clammy, tears streaming down his face. "Peeta!"

"I just don't feel good," he groans, brushing past me and making his way to the dining room. He collapses in a chair, lets his arms fall onto the table, and buries his face in his arms, shaking. "I just… I feel like I'm dying."

I sit next to him and rub his back. "Just another flashback, Peeta. We'll get through this like we always do."

"No… It feels different this time. I feel like I'm having a heart attack," he says through tears, his face still buried in his arms, his body curled up tight. His entire body is shaking. His face is stark white and his skin is clammy and sweaty. Alarmed, I put my hand to his chest. His heart is beating extremely fast, much faster than a healthy person's heart should, even in times of fear or distress. "I can't feel my arms. I can't feel my face. I can't breathe. I can't see straight. I just feel like I'm dying."

Panic flares up inside of me. What is happening to him? How could Peeta come this far, endure the Capitol's torture, survive the rebellion, only to die from this mysterious illness? I want to break down, I want to scream, I want to cry, I want to stop whatever this is from taking over him, I want him to _live_. My heart starts beating faster as well as I rack my brain to figure out what my mother would do.

Suddenly, a memory from years and years ago trickles into my mind. A man barged in through our front door. My mother, Prim, and I looked up in shock. It was not unusual for people to barge into the house at all hours of the day if they needed medical attention, but usually the people were visibly injured and brought by someone else. This man was by himself, fully capable of walking and speaking. My mother looked at him, frozen, waiting for him to say something.

"I think I'm dying."

I noticed that he was shaking in every inch of his limbs. Face pale and sweaty, skin clammy, breathing labored and heavy. He described to my mother how he felt… Convinced he was on death's doorstep, certain he was having a heart attack, couldn't breathe, numb, cold, scared.

My mother sat him down and measured his heart rate. "So, you're breathing," she said. "Your heart is beating. You're able to talk to me. You're not having a heart attack. What you're experiencing right now is a panic attack. While frightening, they're harmless. You are not dying. This is just your body's response to your nervous system producing too much adrenaline. The effects should go away within thirty minutes."

I snap back to the present. "Thirty minutes," I say to Peeta. "It will be gone in thirty minutes. My mother dealt with this before. It's a panic attack, I promise. If you're talking and breathing, you're not in any danger."

"I just…" he chokes through tears. "I just can't believe they're all gone."

"Shh," I say while rubbing his back in a weak attempt to comfort him.

"Even my mother. I hated her, but I still miss her. She would beat me and my brothers. She hated us with every ounce of our soul. And I hate her too, but I still miss her."

My heart breaks for him. Even as a child, when I heard his mother beating him and saw the resulting black eye and swollen cheek, my heart ached for him. Not in a romantic way, but in a very raw, human way. Nowadays, Peeta never talks about this and mainly keeps his emotions to himself.

"And my father. I loved him. He treated us with kindness and raised us like our mother never could, or even wanted to. And my brothers. We were close, but not close enough. There's so many things I wish I could have said to them that I never did. So many words left unspoken. But now… now, that will never happen. They were killed just like I killed so many others in the name of the greater good. I took people away from their families. I feel guilty every day. And I miss them every day."

I am crying too, now, for Peeta's lost family. At least I still have my mother. And I cry for the feeling that only we can truly share; the sickening, dreadful feeling of guilt over causing thousands upon thousands of deaths. I wrap my arms around his neck and cry silent tears, giving him a soft kiss on his temple before burying my face in his golden blonde curls. We sit like this for what seems like ages. Slowly, he stops shaking. His breathing slows down to a normal pace. He stops sweating, so his skin is covered in cool perspiration. His face regains color. Finally, he pulls his head up from his arms, embraces me, and kisses me gently. We rest our heads in the crook of the other's shoulders.

"I love you so much, Katniss," he finally says after a long silence.

"I love you too, Peeta," I respond, not knowing what else to say.

"You're all I have now. I'm on my own, with you. I don't have any family left. And I know I may appear strong on the outside, but on the inside, this hurts me so deeply.'

"You'll always have me," I say with complete honesty. "There is no man in the world I would rather be with than you. And you know that."

"I am so grateful for you, Katniss. You distract me from all the horrible feelings inside of me. You comfort me like no one else can."

That bit shocks me. "Really?"

"Yes, absolutely. I don't know what I'd do without you." He says it with such honesty in his eyes, but I don't know how that can possibly be true.

"But I always feel like… I feel like you do so much more for me than I could ever do for you," I say. "You do everything for me. But I can hardly even comfort you when you have nightmares or flashbacks. I'm not good with words like you are."

"And you don't need to be," says Peeta. "You show me that you care for me in other ways. Like what you did today. You're always there for me. And I love you for it."

With that, he pulls me into a passionate, messy, tear-stained kiss. Maybe it's true that Peeta needs me as much as I need him. At the beginning of our friendship, if you could call it that, I always somehow ended up in his debt. I have asked myself so many times, "Will I ever stop owing him?"

Maybe I finally have.


	6. Chapter 6

Hey guys! This is the LAST CHAPTER to my fanfic :) I hope everyone has enjoyed it! Please leave a review, I love reading them. Friendly reminder that this fanfic is rated M for sexual/violent content.

* * *

I tell Peeta that I want to spend the day by myself today and that we can meet up for dinner. It's hot out and I just want to spend a few hours hunting and gathering with nothing but my thoughts for company.

After hunting and gathering a few rabbits, a thrush, several wild turnips, and some garlic cloves, I walk back to the lake. Earlier today, I had set my traps in the way Gale would've done it, although not nearly as well. The traps probably caught at least a few fish, but I want to relax in the sun for a bit before I collect my spoils. I lie down against a log and close my eyes.

It's been several weeks since I first returned the favor for Peeta. I feel much less guilty now, knowing that I can bring him the same pleasure he brought me. I'm much more skilled now than I first was. I may have embarrassed myself the first time, but it's amazing how Peeta never makes me feel bad about it, even unintentionally. We've spent many nights pleasuring each other, even contorting our bodies so that I can go down on him at the same time that he goes down on me. But after all this time, I can't help but feel that I'm ready for more. After endless nights of fooling around with each other, I want to go all the way with him.

At the same time, I worry. Will it change me? Sex means something different in District 12 than it does in the Capitol. In District 12, there was hardly any contraception. Only the richest of Twelve could afford actual contraceptive medication. The merchants could afford condoms, but in the Seam, that wasn't an option when we didn't even have enough money to feed ourselves. You only had sex with someone you were married to, because if you didn't, you ended up a young mother with no guarantee that the father would even think about you when your child was born. And if you got pregnant and decided you didn't want to be a mother, it was even worse, no matter if you were a merchant or from the Seam. I have seen people bring young women and girls in to my mother's house, bleeding and dying from an attempted abortion. At that point, there wasn't much my mother could do to save them. Sex was terrifying in District 12 because of the consequences.

In the Capitol, there is long term, completely reliable contraception for men and women. There is no such thing as an accidental pregnancy. I had even requested a contraceptive implant myself when I was in the Capitol—there is no chance of me having a child, not now, not ever. The thought of bringing a child into a world where there is still so much uncertainty and misery is atrocious. I could never put a child through Panem as it is now. But the access to the medications they have there greatly affects the way they view sex. To the citizens of the Capitol, sex is nothing but another form of entertainment. They do it with anyone and everyone they have a mutual attraction with. The way they treat sex reminds me of the way they treat food—they binge on it until they vomit and then they binge on it again. Excessive, extravagant, shallow, hollow, empty.

And although I have no chance of having children now, I can't bring myself to view sex the same way the Capitol does. I could never imagine myself having sex with someone shortly after meeting them just because I found them attractive. To me, sex is something so much more. Something special. It was hard enough opening up to Peeta as much as I have already, and it's taken me months to get to the point where I actually want to go all the way with him. I feel so close with Peeta every time we're intimate together, and yet I still want more. And yet it's still frightening to think of making that final step with him. But I know I'm ready.

Suddenly, a bird flaps its wings and flutters out of a tree behind me. I'm not sure how long I've been lying here. An hour, possibly? My skin is warm to the touch from the sun, and once the heat settles in, I know my skin will be a shade or two darker. I head over to the lake and collect my spoils—two catfish and a grouper. This will make for an excellent dinner tonight, but I have more on my mind than dinner right now. I need to talk to Peeta.

So tonight after we've had our catfish with a side of roasted turnips with Peeta's delicious garlic bread, I lead Peeta to my room. I need to do this in a place where I'm most comfortable—my bed, not his. Not that I don't like his bed, but I need to be in my best state of mind going into this.

Peeta takes off his shorts and hops into bed. I take off my clothes and get changed into a tank top and pajama shorts. I think people from the Capitol wear much more sultry undergarments when they have sex, but I have no idea how I'd dress sexy, and I definitely don't know how I'd act sexy. So I play it safe with something I know I won't mess up wearing. With a small pang, I miss Cinna; he'd know just what to dress me in. It is a bit of a funny thing to think about—if I told him I was planning on having sex with Peeta for the first time and wanted him to make me something, how would he react? Would he actually design something for me to wear? Would it be as flashy as what they wear in the Capitol before sex, or would he make me something much more practical? I feel like I could definitely use his advice right now.

"You okay, Katniss?" says Peeta, startling me out of my thoughts. "You seem kind of quiet."

"I'm fine," I say quickly. I cautiously walk over to the bed and nest under the covers with him.

"Are you sure? You seem kind of nervous about something," he says, grinning. "If it's about the turnips, I promise you didn't burn them. There was just a little char."

"It's not about the turnips," I respond, sighing. "It's just… I think I might be ready."

"Ready for what?" Peeta says quizzically.

"You know. Sex." Sometimes I forget I don't have to hide my blush from the cameras anymore. Yet another leftover piece of paranoia from the Games.

"Well, well, well, I never thought I'd see the day," he laughs. "Katniss, actually initiating something sexual? Color me surprised."

"That's not true! I've done it before," I cry, playfully slapping him on the shoulder.

"Rarely," he says. "But you know I'm always ready for you."

"You'll be gentle, right?" I say suddenly. I've heard of sex hurting badly for the woman, and my insides briefly churn with worry. "What if it hurts?"

"I'll be as gentle as I can, so that it won't hurt you. And if it does, we'll stop. Then I'll get you off afterwards. Simple as that."

I immediately press my lips to his. There's no way I deserve someone as sweet as Peeta. All worries pushed aside, I'm burning with desire for him now. He returns the kiss softly at first, then more passionately as I press my body into his. We start to tear each other's clothes off. My tank top and shorts come off, followed by my bra and underwear. I take Peeta's shirt and boxers off as fast as I can. I want all of him, every last inch of him. Completely naked now, his hands snake down from my back to between my legs and begin stroking my clit. I whimper and grind into his hand, already starting to drip with anticipation. His breath is hot on my lips as we kiss. His body heat radiates from him under the covers, warming me, making me crave him even more. Wanting to return the favor, I reach down and grab his cock, hard as always. But he pushes my hand away, pins it behind my back with his other hand, and resumes fingering me.

"Hey!" I murmur, annoyed that he won't let me touch him. He stifles my voice with his delicious kisses. But I want more. I want to make up for all the times he'd eaten me out without anything in return. I slowly trail my kisses from his mouth to his neck, from his neck to his chest, from his chest to his stomach… His erection is so hard, digging into my chest, begging to be sucked and licked.

Quickly, Peeta grabs me and pulls me up, face-to-face. I'm even more annoyed now—sucking his cock turns me on nearly as much as getting eaten out does, and he's denying me that? He's denying _himself_? "Why won't you let me—?"

"I have to be honest with you, Katniss," he says, cutting me off. His face is red, and I notice it's not just from arousal, it's with shy embarrassment as well. "If you do that, I'll last about thirty seconds when I'm inside you." I blush, too, and a smile creeps up on me. Could having sex with me really turn him on that much? To the point where he couldn't even last a minute with me?

Before I'm left alone with my thoughts for too long, Peeta ventures down, trailing kisses across my breasts, and positions his face between my legs. "I want to make this as enjoyable for you as possible," he says. Briefly I feel fear—what if it really is painful during sex? He'll go down on me now to get me wet and aroused, but what if it's not enough? In our whirlwind of passion and pleasure, I had forgotten about the possibility of pain until he said that. But my thoughts are quickly smothered as his tongue presses up against my clit and I exhale sharply in pleasure. Maybe it will hurt, but for now, I can't focus on anything except the flickering of his tongue and the pumping of his finger inside me.

I hold his hand and enjoy the amazing sensations that I'm now quite accustomed to while moisture flows freely from my pussy. Suddenly, Peeta slips another finger into me. He hasn't done this before, and it's a bit uncomfortable at first, but I slowly relax my walls around his fingers. If this was uncomfortable, then surely his cock is going to be much more so. But I can't think of that now as he works his tongue and fingers over my pussy. My breathing speeds up; I'm beginning to lose focus. My clit is aching for more, begging for release. I begin to buck hard against his tongue, my hips squirming towards him. My moaning is getting louder. I start gripping his hand tightly now, so close to the satisfaction I crave. And then… he stops.

I exhale loudly, frustrated and exhausted. My nipples are hard, my clit is swollen, and my pussy is soaking wet. For a second, I had forgotten what we got in bed to do. Delivering me an orgasm from oral sex is not the goal tonight, I tell myself. I'm ready for so much more.

Peeta climbs on top of me, his cock just inches from my hole. "Are you ready?" he says breathlessly.

"Yes," I moan. I'm ready for all of him. Every last inch of his body, I want for my own. I look straight into his blue eyes above me, his golden curls falling over his gorgeous face. What is he thinking right now? Is he nervous? Is he worried about how he'll perform in bed? Or is he just plain horny? His warm expression betrays none of his inner thoughts.

He positions his cock right against my entrance. I'm the nervous one now as I reach my arms up to wrap around his neck. I bite my lip, close my eyes, and brace myself for the worst. Slowly, he eases his cock into me.

I gasp loudly from the shock of the sensation. It's definitely uncomfortable. So much thicker than even his two fingers combined. I look up at him for reassurance. "Relax, Katniss," he says calmly. He's right—my body is completely tense, the muscles in my pussy far too tight around his cock, which is maybe only two inches submerged into me. I take a deep breath and relax all of my muscles, letting my arms slide down from around his neck to rest around his own. "Gently," I plead.

Peeta gradually inches his cock into me until he's fully sheathed inside me. He pulls his hips back until his cock is almost completely slipped out from my pussy, then gently thrusts back inside me again. He continues his slow thrusts until the pain is replaced by pleasure and I begin moaning softly. His cock fills me up completely, thick and round, much different from his fingers, which left gaps between them. Every thrust taps his hips against my clit and sends a small wave of pleasure up my spine. I moan and wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper inside of me, wanting more of him. Peeta's breathless above me, face screwed up in concentration. It feels amazing to have all of him inside of me, our bodies completely entwined, as intimate as we can possibly be.

Feeling more comfortable now that I've been warmed up to this new sensation, I groan a quiet "Harder" to Peeta. Listening to his primal grunting is so incredibly erotic; it's not often that Peeta loses control around me, but now I feel as though we are nothing more than animals. He's pounding away now, sweat dripping from his forehead in exhaustion. Every stroke of his cock inside me causes me to moan harder, the pleasure quickly mounting. I arch my back to better meet his hips and wrap my arms around his neck again, feeling the cool beads of sweat streaking down his back. My heart is beating much faster now and I start to buck my hips wildly to grind my clit against his pelvic bone. A loud groan escapes my mouth; I'm craving satisfaction now.

"Please, Peeta, make me cum. I want to cum."

I pull him towards me and he lowers his body closer to mine. His lower body is now rubbing against my clit. My eyes close and my jaw drops as I feel pleasure beginning to take over me; a familiar throbbing sensation builds in my clit, and I know I'm so close. "Harder, faster, please." Wetness is dripping out of me as I get closer to coming. I wrap my arms tight around him, feeling his beautiful body thrusting against me. My legs are completely wrapped around his lower body, pressing my yearning clit completely against him. I'm dripping with sweat as well now, my nails are digging into his back, I can't stop myself from whispering his name over and over…

And at long last, my orgasm surges through my body, wracking every limb with convulsions of pleasure. I cry out his name as loud as I can, moaning and bucking my hips. And it's not long until I feel Peeta's hot cum gushing into me, pouring down the sides of his cock, his erratic animalistic thrusts rocking my body as he moans out my name as well. My pussy tightens around his cock, its contractions milking every last drop of his cum. Peeta collapses on top of me, still inside me, damp with sweat and completely out of breath. I roll us over so that we're lying next to each other, face to face.

"That was amazing," I say weakly, noticing that I'm out of breath as well.

"It was perfect," Peeta sighs. He's completely exhausted, and I just now realize that he pretty much did all the work and all the thrusting while I just laid there and enjoyed it. Not much different from anything else in our relationship, I guess.

"Do you feel any different?" I ask him. "Like you're a changed person or something?"

"What? No," Peeta says with a small laugh. "I think people make it out to be a bigger deal than it actually is. Maybe not in terms of the consequences, but in terms of the meaning behind it. I don't feel any different. I just feel like it's another way to express my love for you. And, of course, have a hell of a good time with you."

I laugh and press my lips against his. "We have to pass the time somehow, I guess. But I'm glad we did it, Peeta. I really am. I wouldn't have had this any other way. You made it perfect."

"No, you did," he says, muffling my embarrassed laugh with a kiss. It was clear that the both of us were drained from all the exertion.

"Tomorrow, let's go for a walk," I say. "But right now, I need to sleep. And so do you."

"Sounds good, Katniss," says Peeta, barely awake at this point.

So I turn my back towards him to spoon with him, feeling smug that I had taken care of his erection yet again.

The next morning, Peeta and I make good on our plans to take a walk beyond the fence. Maybe we'll gather if we feel like it, but it's a warm spring day, and I just want to get away from Twelve with him. The breeze flicks my braid and tousles Peeta's hair as we make our way into the woods.

"This day could not get any more beautiful," Peeta says. He's right about this; the air is warm and sweet. White fluffy clouds drift lazily across the sky, never snuffing the sun's light. "Just like you." He kisses me by my ear.

"Stop," I say, blushing. "Or I'll have to embarrass you too."

"You know you can't embarrass me, Katniss," he replies with a laugh. It's true—no matter what I do or say, he never ends up feeling awkward or embarrassed. I guess it comes as part of the package of having good social skills. He pulls me in for another kiss, this time on the lips. My body gives in and I lean against him as he holds me close. I pull away, staring into his blue eyes, and then drop my gaze shyly. That's when I see it.

A bright yellow dandelion. It must be the first of the year; I can't remember the last time I saw a dandelion. A wave of nostalgia washes over my body, leaving me drenched in my memories. I'm eleven years old and in school again. Peeta had just given me the burned loaves of bread. I had seen him that day with his black eye and swollen cheek from when his mother hit him for burning the bread. I had accidentally made eye contact with him from across the schoolyard; upon making eye contact, I had immediately blushed and stared at the ground in embarrassment. And then I saw a dandelion, the first of the year. It had given me hope—hope that my family would survive without my father, that I could provide for us, that everything was going to be okay.

I wouldn't say that things are okay now. But given the circumstances, life is as good as it's going to get. Gale is successful and far away from me, away from the constant reminder of what he can never have. My mother is a talented healer and hospital-founder. Prim… I try not to think about her at this moment. I can't take back her death now. And then there's Peeta and I. Madly in love with each other, reliant but not dependent on each other, spending most of our days and nights together, healing together from the inside out.

Slowly, I bend over and pluck the dandelion from the ground. "You know, this reminds me of you."

"How?" asks Peeta.

"I saw the first dandelion of the year the day after you gave me that bread. All those years ago, when we were eleven years old." Peeta's gaze is intense with mine. "My family and I were so close to dying of starvation, but you saved our lives with those burned loaves of bread. And I saw that dandelion and just felt… hopeful. So maybe it's stupid, but it reminds me of you."

"It's not stupid at all," he responds. "You've always meant so much to me, Katniss. Even when we were young. Why don't we take that dandelion and press it into our scrapbook?"

I like the idea. We eventually find a sprig of katniss sprouting out of a pond in the woods as well, the perfect complement to the dandelion that represents Peeta. So when we finish pressing the dandelion and the katniss plant, we slip it into the pages of our scrapbook, right after the pages that hold one of the primroses that he had planted beside my house all those months ago.

"Our scrapbook is perfect," I say. "And I can't remember how long ago it was that we last added anything to it."

"It's because we're healing," Peeta responds. "And we've documented nearly everything we can."

"I just don't want to forget anything," I say.

"You won't," says Peeta. "Not as long as we have this."

I know he's right. The primrose is preserved beautifully, small and buttery yellow. The vibrant dandelion and the powerful katniss plant, with its arrowhead-shaped leaves and white flower, lie next to each other, tucked into the pages of our scrapbook. They will be preserved there forever. And long after Peeta and I are dead, our scrapbook will live on. Maybe we'll have children in the very, very distant future that we can pass our scrapbook on to, and maybe we will tell them everything that's happened, fully explaining its pages so that the memories don't die with us.

I can't help but feel that as we preserve the plants between the pages, we are also preserving our love for each other. After all that's happened between us, after all we've been through together, our love for each other will last an eternity. That, I know.


End file.
